I am in tourists’ pictures,
Since I walk around my tourist town,
Pictures I will never see,
Taken by tourists with me in them, accidentally.
They come to see the seven gables; the Seven Gables is famous in a book.
One thing tourists know how to do is look.
Because elephants live in books
And elephants are few,
And elephants need to eat leaves,
They may come to your town, too.
My town is by the water, which watered the tourists’ dreams:
Old World cliffs. New World streams.
I see them peering at maps, and guessing which way they should go,
Following the sea’s edge to the lighthouse;
The moss stinks, and the tide is low.
They spy a heron in the shallow harbor,
Bending its legs in the green water,
Or is that me? Tomorrow a picture will know.
